


The Evolution of Tiago Rodriguez

by Lene3161



Series: Family can consist of two former 007s, a not-secretary, and a boffin army [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Biphobia, Child Abuse, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Parent-Child Relationship, Parenthood, Q Backstory, Q's Name, Q's stepfather has issues, Racism, Racism and Islamophobia by an OC in first chapter, Severine deserves better, Tiago Rodriguez Backstory, Tiago's Abuela is a BAMF
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-09-24 20:16:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17107412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lene3161/pseuds/Lene3161
Summary: How Tiago Rodriguez grew from a scared teenager, to an overwhelmed young parent, a brilliant 007, and father to eleven children.Featuring M-though she wasn't yet called M making a different call, Severine hopefully getting what she deserves, Tiago's adorable niñito and the twelve other strays Tiago adopted.





	1. Orphaned and Alone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CatherineMcCord](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=CatherineMcCord), [manic_intent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Rat Under The Apple Tree](https://archiveofourown.org/works/938875) by [CathrineMcCord](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CathrineMcCord/pseuds/CathrineMcCord). 
  * Inspired by [Bit Bang Theory](https://archiveofourown.org/works/574457) by [manic_intent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent). 



> Should I focus on my other WIP? Yes. Will I? Maybe. Writer's block sucks
> 
> As a bisexual with homophobic parents, the events in this chapter is my biggest fear. I hope I've represented the people, places and experiences well. If I haven't, please point it out. Especially the languages, as I speak none of the languages featured here and got them all from the almighty google translate.
> 
> This story grew from the idea that Q wasn't behaving right during Skyfall. The guy who was so skilled he was promoted to head a department at a young age plugging in an enemy's computer to his own? Seems unlikely. I thought maybe he was watching Raoul from CCTV, recognised him, was in shock, and thus didn't think clearly. Raoul also seemed to plan things this way. Then I read Rat Under The Apple Tree, and Bit Bang Theory, and I wrote this out.  
> Enjoy.

When Tiago Rodriguez was tossed out on his ear at fifteen years old for being _bisexual_ of all things, he didn’t cry. Just held his breath to avoid screaming hysterically. He’d known since he was twelve, when he felt the inexplicable urge to kiss his Catholic boarding school roommate on the mouth, that this might happen if his parents found out about his sexuality, no matter how much he tried to sugar-coat and deny it. His parents would disown him, despise him for something he can't control. But still, he had never seriously thought it would happen. After all, he had planned to hide his sexuality for his entire life-that, and he never thought his parents would hate him enough to abandon him. But that plan was blown out of the water, and he was now  _alone_.

 

Tiago had had his life all thought out, neatly arranged like his Abuela's porcelain doll collection in their display cabinet-get straight A*s on his A-Levels, apply to university to study IT, graduate with honours, get a good job and maybe have a wife and children along the line if he ever fell in love with a woman. Being thrown out had never factored in his plans-except for the occasional nights he  ~~thought up countermeasures to being outed~~ wondered how his parents might find out his sexuality. It was his greatest wish, after all- ~~coming out to his parents and being accepted~~ seeing the despair on his parents’ faces when they realized their brilliant only son, their pride and joy, was a _faggot_. That'll teach them to insult people like him.

 

His very vivid imagination had given him plenty of ways The Big Reveal could have happened. It could be him finally losing his temper at their homophobic rants that he always started in a futile attempt to change their minds and declaring to them, loud and proud: ‘I’m bisexual, dammit! Don’t you _dare_ insult gays when your son likes men!’. He knew he would never do it, but it was still nice to dream of. Or it could be them walking in on him getting off to the pictures of heavily muscled athletes in his sports magazines, as they never seem to knock when they enter his room. It was what happened with Abuela when he was thirteen and spent the summer on her island -but he got lucky with her, as she'd accepted him. Or it could even be him throwing self-preservation to the wind and stuttering out that he was bi, because he _wanted_ to be out, _yearned_ for the same acknowledgement straight people got.  

 

After all, his parents would never change their minds, so he just had to make the best of being bi. If it meant horrifying Mamá and Papai-well, he’d always wanted to teach them a lesson for being homophobes and insulting people like him. Maybe _this_ would do it-they’d be lonely without him around, after all. But would they even miss him, though? Maybe they would just be ecstatic at getting rid of an _abomination_ like him. God, he wanted them to _choke_ and _drown_ in misery, _suffer_ twice as much as he will, because he knew that his life will be  _destroyed_ because of this, as he won't finish his education, while they will get to live happily for getting rid of a _fucking poofter_ -

 

“ _Que diabos tu ainda está fazendo aqui? Vá embora!”_ Tiago jerked aware at hearing Papai’s voice. Papai was speaking Portuguese-not a good sign, he only spoke Portuguese when he was angry. Tiago realized he had been sitting on the doorstep-no, _porta do_ _Senhor e da Senhora Rodriguez_ , he’s not welcome here anymore-for quite a long time, as it was now late afternoon. He immediately stood up, and wavered slightly as spots flooded his vision. He looked up at the direction of Pap- _Senhor Rodriguez’s_ voice. He’d lost everything, and it would do well for him to remember it. _Senhor Rodriguez_ was leaning out the second floor window, and his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. Tiago felt guilt at the sight, but he shook it off and tried to feel satisfied at his apparent sadness. He took a deep breath, grabbed his backpack, suitcase, and shoebox( _“Vamos a ser generosos y te daremos 15 minutos para empacar, ¡entonces nunca más volverás aquí!”_ , Mamá had sobbed out, tears streaming down her tanned cheeks) and marched away from his former home.

 

Attracted by his father’s shouts, a few neighbours were peeking out from behind curtains and blinds. Some had entirely abandoned subtlety and was outright staring at him. The window cleaner who was currently wiping next door’s _Señora_ Gonzales’ front windows said, “Bad argument, _chico_?”

 

“The worst.” Tiago murmured, not meeting the window cleaner’s eyes. He wondered how long the cleaner had stood there, seeing him at his worst.

 

“Got anywhere to go?”

 

“Abuela’s house.” Tiago didn’t mention that he’d be going to an empty house in London's commuter belt as Abuela had died just a few months after she found out he liked boys; and had made him beneficiary of the English house, her island, and £5000 in cash in anticipation of him being disowned. Bless  _la excéntrica anciana_ , and her open-mindedness. She had dismissed his stuttering explanations as to why he was masturbating to a picture of a soccer player and simply told him to clean up as dinner was ready. Then she said, very wryly, " _Siempre he esperado poder vivir para ver a tus hijos_. Doesn't seem likely now, does it?" He'd flinched, and was about to apologize, before she cut him off. " _No hacer_. Your parents' and I's boat trip from Gibraltar to London to help with World War II was very... _educativo_. I saw the captain of the ship and the cook going at it like rabbits near the loo. They were very nice people who did their jobs excellently. Opened my eyes to the fact homos may not be all bad. You know we worked as RAF mechanics in London, right? Well, during that time, I once got hopelessly lost after dark because I visited a friend at hospital who got injured by a workplace accident. I tried to take a shortcut to my flat I heard a neighbour talking about, and ended up in a part of London I've never been in before. I gathered my courage and walked into a seedy-looking building to ask for directions. It turned out to be a gay bar. Two men, one my age and another much older who were necking about near the door offered to show me the way, once they realized I won't go out screaming about the 'indecencies' going on in that place. The couple escorted me back to my flat. The younger turned out to be a TB carrier, and thus not allowed to fight. But he worked in the ammunition factories. The older was a doctor taking care of wounded troops who had been sent home. They were very charming, and very manly. I thought the captain and cook were exceptions, that the other homos are weirdly womanly. But no, homos are mostly normal men. Some are...somewhat eccentric, but that's no excuse to hate them. That's how I accepted people like you. Now next time, be more discreet." 

 

At dinner, she told him she'd leave him with a place to stay should his parents reject him. "They hate gays,  _no importa lo que diga_. They'll probably disown you." He'd protested that they loved him, and there was no way it would happen. "Then why haven't you told your parents about this?" He couldn't answer. "Now, if your parents decide they'd rather have no son at all than to have a gay one, you'll be safe. I know you're planning on hiding this forever. I have no idea if it'll work, but if it doesn't-well, you've got an insurance policy." He hated her a bit, then. She'd summarized everything about liking boys he was afraid of. But now, he was extremely grateful to her for all she did. 

 

"Hello?" Tiago blinked, and realized the window cleaner was standing there patiently while he was going down memory lane. He was just about to apologize for ignoring him when the man asked, "Is it far, your grandmother's house?"

 

“Very.” Tiago was too tired to lie.

 

“Then take this.” The window cleaner reached into his pockets and took out a handful of crumpled up bills, which he then handed to Tiago. “It should be enough for a cab. I would know, my brother’s a cab driver. Doubt you ever needed to know cab fares, before-well.” He gestured toward the Rolls-Royce in Tiago’s car park- _no,_ his _former family’s car park_. _Joder_ , just how difficult must cutting ties to your family be? People do it all the time, with much less of a good reason than Tiago.

 

Tiago’s eyes burned. Here was a complete stranger, who had utterly no obligation to be kind(which was different to being nice, as Tiago knew very well) to him, who had given him some of his hard-earned money and expected nothing in return, except for a ‘Thank you’. This man had treated him better than his pa-his former parents in that regard.

 

He swallowed around the lump in his throat and choked out, “Thank you, sir, but I don’t need it. I-I should just go,” Tiago added, glancing at the spying neighbours. His unceremonious departure would be neighbourhood gossip for _months_. The thought of his former parents being accosted by nosy gossip-mongers at Church tomorrow soothed the sting of their hatred just the tiniest bit.

 

“Take it, _chico_. Use it for _aperitivos_ , or something.” The window cleaner stuffed the bills into Tiago’s hand. He hesitated, then patted Tiago’s shoulder with his dark hand. The man’s brown eyes met his, and Tiago could see kindness and warmth in them. Tiago straightened up, and gave the man a watery smile.

 

“What’s your name, sir?” Tiago had heard _Señora_ Gonzales sniff disdainfully to his mother about how the man was Moroccan and Muslim.

 

“Aadeel Hashim. And stop with that sir nonsense. Can’t deny that it’s nice to get some respect from somebody around here, they all act like my parents being Moroccan is some sort of _pecado_ , but it’s still awkward. And you speak excellent English, by the way-just like the English upper military folk I’ve worked for.” Mr. Hashim said the last sentence awkwardly, obviously trying to cheer Tiago up by complimenting him on something. It worked, as Tiago just wanted  _something_ positive after the shitshow at home.

 

“Thank you, Mr. Hashim. It’s time for me to go.”

 

Mr. Hashim patted his shoulder again before turning back to his work. Tiago inhaled deeply and made his way out of the neighbourhood he once lived in. He only got halfway through the rows of houses before he stopped.

 

Tiago vaguely registered Mr. Hashim's concerned face, with his greying head of kinky hair, aquiline nose and thick lips coming closer out of the corner of his eye. Mr. Hashim asked him if he was alright, but he didn't respond. His mind was on what his parents had said before tossing him out. He immediately turned on his heel and ran back to the house at the furthest end of the neighbourhood that he once lived in, his things forgotten on the street. Mr. Hashim yelled at him to not go back and fight his parents, to not make the situation worse, but Tiago ignored him. He _needed_ to know  _how_ his parents found out he was bi. He had never told them, _how_ did they know?

 

Tiago pressed on the doorbell. His parents didn't open the door. He pressed it again. And again. And again. He resorted to hammering on the door repeatedly with his fists, shouting "Open the door! Open the door!" He stumbled as Papai opened the heavy oak door. Pai- _Senhor Rodriguez_  glowered at him. 

 

"O que tu quer, tu bicha?" _Senhor_  Rodriguez spat out. 

 

The venom hurt just as much as when he first heard it directed at him. Tiago hesitated, wondering if he should ask. He squared his shoulders, looked his former father in the eye, and asked, "How did you know? I never said anything to you or Mamá.  _How did you know!?_ "

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Que diabos tu ainda está fazendo aqui? Vá embora!-Portuguese for 'What the hell are you still doing here? Go away!'
> 
> porta do Señor e da Señora Rodriguez-


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY. I abandoned this thing for like five months. I hope this ~4000 word update makes up for it.
> 
> Alright, I forgot to make it clear last chapter, so in this story I made Tiago Gibraltarian with an immigrant Portuguese father. Tiago's background made me want to bash my head in. Javier Bardem has confirmed he's got Portuguese heritage, as Tiago's a Portuguese name. But his last name is Spanish, and I heard some people saying he's Mexican because that's where his skull designs come from. So I just threw up my hands and made him British with Portuguese heritage. His paternal grandma came to Gibraltar in 1916 after Germany declared war on Portugal, married a Gibraltarian man in the same year, had his father in 1925 and a daughter at 1920, Tiago's father followed his girlfriend's family to England in 1944 to help RAF despite parental disapproval. Tiago's parents married very simply in the same year, despite their youth-war made them reckless. Years later, their romance began to deteriorate, and in a last ditch effort to revive their relationship had Tiago, despite deciding early on to be a childless couple. His name is Joao Rodriguez. Post disowned, Tiago kept the name Rodriguez out of sheer spite. Later on in this story, I'm planning to have him make a public name, because spy and all, and to use Silva as the surname of his disguise.
> 
> Tiago's mother is full Gibraltarian. Five years younger than her husband, she was 'eccentric' and decided to be childless. Her mother didn't mind. At first she didn't want to get married as her husband might want kids, but when her boyfriend also turned out to not want children she married him. Has no siblings.

  _Papai and Mamá were fighting. Again. They've been tense around each other for the past three days-a new record. Normally it'd just be two days full of repressed anger before their relationship went back to their usual state of friends who were once a couple. He wondered if maybe Papai cheated or something. He'd always 'joked' about doing it so much Tiago wouldn't really be surprised. Maybe they'd finally gotten the divorce Mamá had told Tiago she secretly wanted. If that was the case, he hoped he'd be with his Mamá. He preferred her to his father, who'd always been randomly snappish and irritable, always wanting things to go his way and his wishes catered to, but that was okay as his good outweighed the bad. He may not be that good a husband, but he was a good father and provider. They always fought because both of them never seemed to make it clear what they wanted to each other. And because they always took out bad days and emotions on either their spouse or child-most often both. At any rate, he'd long since been taught by his Abuela that his parents' domestics were not his business, and since neither of them had ranted to him at all about the other hoping to get him to 'take their side',which was very strange, he concluded something big was about to happen-something his parents didn't want him involved with. And besides, he'd always take Mamá's side. Not just because he loved her, but because her points were always right, even if the way she argued things were not. But he wouldn't tell her, he wasn't stupid enough to give his mother more ammo for her arguments with her husband. Whatever the outcome of this latest bout of dispute, he wanted to stay as far away from all messy emotions as possible. Maybe it was cruel, hoping for his parents to get divorced, but he was just tired of mediating between his parents and being their messenger boy during fights._

_Tiago had gone to play football with the other neighbourhood boys after breakfast to escape the tension. They weren't friends, not exactly, but acquaintances and playmates. He much preferred rugby, but none of the other boys ever wanted to play it. Still, he'll take what he can get. Summer holidays were monotonous after Abuela’s death, as his parents avoided her island due to the memories of her it brought. He played until lunchtime, and went back inside, tired and sweaty and wondering what Mamá would cook. Whenever he hung out with other teens, Abuela and Mamá would make wonderful food as a reward for making friends. Well, from Abuela at least. Mamá understood that he was a very solitary person and was only doing it for Abuela and Papai, and to do something other than reading and coding. The delicious meals Mamá cooked were a reward for pleasing them, and a sort of commiseration at being the only two people who preferred being on their lonesome in their large extended family. That was Abuela's only fault - her constant attempts at making him more social. Still, he understood why - she had soothed his tears after being bullied by those his age and older for being too smart, fought his parents so he won't be put with older children at primary school. She was the only one who understood that he wasn't emotionally mature enough to skip grades. She had also been the one to suggest he be sent to an English boarding school once he was eleven, as she felt he would be more challenged academically there. His parents had agreed, on the condition she'd let the school bump him up grades, which was why he'd taken his GCSEs at fourteen instead of sixteen. She thought making friends would protect him from the sort of petty jealousy his peers threw at him. But it just wasn't him, and to this day his only friend was Richard who roomed with him at school. And that's perfectly fine for him._

_Tiago frowned when he noticed that there were no smells and sounds from his mother puttering around the kitchen. She was always in the kitchen, this time of day. Maybe Papai had driven her to moving out, and she was currently packing her bags? He quickly took off his shoes and changed into his slippers, and was about to go up to the master bedroom when he heard his mother sob out from the kitchen, "Ven aqui, hijo."  Alarmed, he immediately went to the kitchen, shouting, "Mamá! Mamá,  ¿estás bien?" He stopped dead at the sight of his Mamá crying in Papai's arms. Never, in his entire life, had he seen Mamá seeking comfort in Papai. Never. She usually did that with him or Abuela. The world must be ending. Then he saw the look on Papai's face._

_Papai's face was scarlet with incandescent rage. His thick brows were knitted together, and his forehead wrinkled unattractively. Tiago wondered if he would be getting smacked with a wooden spoon, as Papai's eyes promised terrible things to come as they glared at him._

_Mamá kept sobbing, and Papai didn't say a word. Just kept glaring at him with a viciousness he had never seen before. Tiago took a deep breath and blurted out, "What happened?"  He hesitated, before coming closer to his parents. "Mamá, why are you crying?" He asked. Papai drew Mamá back. "Papai?"_

_"Nós sabemos." What?_

_"Nós sabemos, TU BICHA!" Papai was screaming. His spittle flew everywhere. He looked positively deranged. Mamá sobbed louder._

_Oh. They knew. Oh, God._

_"Como tu pode? Nós te criamos melhor que isso! E agora, tu se deixa fuder na bunda!"_

_Tiago had never prayed outside of mandatory prayers from school, Church, and religious celebrations. But now, he prayed as hard as he could, grasping for a shred of help in his situation. 'Spirit of our God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Most Holy Trinity, descend upon me. Plea-'_

_"Temos vergonha de tu! Não suporto olhar para tu! Tu é um pecador malvado e sujo!"_

_'If any evil spirits have attached themselves to me or oppressed me in any way, I command you, spirits of earth, fire, water, the netherworld, or the evil forces of nature, to depart now and go straight to Jesus Christ, for him to deal with you as he wills.' Shit, he'd accidentally mixed up the Prayer against Evil and the Prayer for Protection._

_"Deus, eu não posso acreditar que tenho que lidar com isso! O que tu estava pensando!?"_

_His father sucked in a sharp breath. Tiago knew he was nowhere near done ranting at him. He absurdly wondered how many prayers he'd end up jumbling._

_"Eu não posso acreditar que meu filho iria agir assim! Nós te alimentamos, nos vestimos, e é isso que tu nos deu em troca? Eu-"_

_"Joao."_

_Upon hearing his mother's soft, hushed voice; his father immediately bent his head closer to his mother. Tiago wondered why it was now of all times that they acted like the husband and wife they are. Mamá whispered something to Papai, and Papai nodded. A strange calm seemed to seep through his father. The tension in his shoulders disappeared. His face smoothed out, leaving nothing but a blank emptiness that was more terrifying than the previous stormy rage._

_Papai stared into his eyes wordlessly. Aloof, detached brown eyes met their anxious, petrified doppelgänger in his son's face. Papai eventually said, in a voice of pure steel, "You are no longer our son. I won't judge you as that's nobody's job but God's, but I will do as I see fit to remove any...unnatural things from my home. Get out of our house."_

_What?  He couldn't mean that...could he?_

_"Mamá?" Tiago implored. He idly noticed that he was trembling all over._

_Mamá was still crying her heart out. But she gathered herself up, before turning to face him. He immediately wished she hadn't. Her eyes were full of grief and disgust. "Vamos a ser generosos y te daremos 15 minutos para empacar, ¡entonces nunca más volverás aquí!", she sobbed out._

_Tiago felt rage course through him. " Você está me chutando por ser bissexual?  Eu sou seu filho, Mamá!"_

_"Nós tomamos nossa decisão. Não se incomode em contestar. Agora pegue suas coisas e vá. " Papai spat out._

_Never in Tiago's life had he felt as helpless as he did now, seeing his family turn their backs on him. So he did the only thing he could do: follow their orders. He shakily made his way out of the kitchen and to his bedroom, where he spent a few precious minutes just sitting on his bed with his face buried in his hands, trying to keep his composure. Once he felt he had himself reasonably under control, he grabbed his suitcase, once used for school but now used to kickstart his life as an orphan, and filled it according to the guidelines they gave him at school. ‘Alright, roll up seven t-shirts, seven bottoms, school dress-wait, would I even be going to school again? Papai certainly won't be paying for my schooling anymore. Oh God, what if I don't finish school?' He had to take several deep breaths to calm himself down._

_"Right," he shakily whispered. "Right." Licking his lips, he carefully planned his next steps. First, take a plane-no, he needs to stretch out Abuela's money. A ferry, then. But the sooner he gets settled in England, the sooner he can find a job, then he can start saving up to pay for uni. No way was he able to afford enough to pay for his old school and save for uni-he had to choose. His family had worked as mechanics for generations, and Papai had taught him how to fix cars. Maybe he could find work as a car mechanic in Langford, Bedfordshire. It shouldn't be too hard to make the switch._

_He wondered if Langford had a casino, but instantly dismissed the thought. He'd seen how much money people can lose when his father brought him to their casino one night, to show him the family business. It was tempting, but it was too risky. And besides, Abuela had said it was a small town, and had only bought the house as a future retirement plan. She did it after getting profits from the casino she set up using her inheritance after her mother's unexpected death. His parents had been scandalized after she started her casino. But when a year later she got enough money to buy an island and a new house in Jolly Old England, they had forgiven her quickly. She named the casino The Euphoria, which was proving quite popular with the post-war crowd, and the tourists after the Spanish border was reopened. That was how he could go to school in England-her earnings went to his education._

_Papai had quit his job as a mechanic and ran the casino after Abuela died. Tiago spitefully wished for The Euphoria to go bankrupt, even though he knew it was unlikely, as Papai was as good at running the casino as Abuela was. He was interrupted in the middle of wishing for a flood of cockroaches in The Euphoria-an even more unlikely fantasy-by his door being opened._

_Mamá stood in his doorway, staring at him with an odd look he couldn't decipher. For a moment, he hoped she would say that this was all a mistake, and that she had convinced Papai to let him stay, but then she said, "Why haven't you packed yet? It's been half an hour. Your father's getting angry-well, angrier than he is now.”_

_For the second time that day, Tiago felt furious and betrayed. "What happened to 'You are no longer our son?'", he snapped._

_Mamá froze, before realizing what she had said. Grimacing, she turned her eyes to his suitcase. "Your father's pulled you out of school. Don't bring your uniform," she said, echoing what he already knew. "Pack your jeans, England isn't as hot as Gibraltar in August. Bring some formal clothes for job-hunting. Your papers and some money are on the coffee table. You can take what you want from Abuela's room. I know you're going to her English house, so I'll send your computer and AS-level results to the address." She turned and was about to leave, before he stopped her._

_"Mamá, can't I stay?"_

_Her spine stiffened. Her shoulders squared back. Her dainty hands reached up to run through her wavy brown hair, a nervous tic of hers. "Just go, Tiago."_

_"What if I promise to control it?"_

_"It can't be controlled. That's the problem. Now hurry up." And she practically sprinted to the master bedroom. Moments later, he heard her sobs._

_Resigning himself to his fate, he went back to packing. He went to his bookshelf, trying to decide what books to bring. He picked out The Little Prince, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy series, the Colour of Magic, The Hobbit and The Fellowship of the Ring. He put them in his backpack, and put his textbooks, which had been stacked on his desk into his suitcase. The nine books filled his backpack near to bursting. Normally he’d put his textbooks in his backpack, but he wanted to bring his most beloved books. He took out the certificates he won in school competitions from his desk drawer. The rugby awards, the academic awards and art awards were in a folder he used specifically to organize them. They went into the bottom of his suitcase. The really important papers, like his GCSE diploma and house ownership certificate had been with his mother, and she had set them on the coffee table._

_Good thing Abuela had insisted he be emancipated before her death, so he could inherit her house and island. She had told his parents it was to prevent any greedy cousins contesting her will. His parents, who were well-acquainted with the Sackville-Bagginses of his family, agreed with only minor grumbling. Things had progressed as usual post his emancipation with only his signature on papers instead of Mamá’s. It had caused quite a stir at school._

 

_He moved on to his clothes. He picked out seven t-shirts for casual wear, five undershirts, and three pairs of jeans. He also packed three long-sleeved shirts and all three pairs of his school slacks, along with the suit his parents bought for Abuela’s funeral. He chose five pairs of socks and seven pairs of underwear. They barely fit into his suitcase, and left just enough room for a few toiletries thanks to his textbooks. He wondered how he was supposed to bring his art supplies, but realized he had to leave them behind, too. Deciding to make the best of it, he took his favourite writing pen and put it in his pocket. He packed his current toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste. He left his shampoo behind, figuring that using soap would do until he got settled at Abuela’s house. But he still packed his comb and hair gel. He didn’t want to look messy when looking for work. He went to Abuela’s room to pick what he wanted to bring._

_Opening the door to her room, he hesitated before going in. He felt guilty for taking her things, even though he knew she would have wanted him to take them. He couldn’t help but feel he was taking away what made her room hers, even though nobody else would be using her things._

 

_He went to her display cabinet. This was where she kept the dolls and miniatures she didn’t want visitors to see, or she felt was too precious to be on display. Visitor-worthy dolls were put in the living room cabinet. He choose a young boy in a suit. It was the odd one out from rows of hyper-feminine frilly figurines. Wavering, he pulled out a small wooden box from a drawer at the bottom of the cabinet. He opened it and removed the two little porcelain dolls and stuffing. Abuela hadn't gotten the chance to take them out before she died. He stuffed the box with tissue paper and put the boy doll inside, trying not to wince at his treatment of an antique._

 

_He also took a few of her doilies. She had worked on them nearly every evening. That done, he went back to his room. He laid the doilies flat on top of his clothes, stuffed the wooden box into one crevice in his suitcase, and his toiletries in another. Now he needed to go to the airport, go to London, then get on the train to Langford. Mamá had paid cleaners to come to the house every other month or so to maintain things. That meant he only needed to worry about food. He closed his suitcase with an air of finality and put his wallet in his pocket._

 

_Taking in a deep breath, he picked up his bags and went to the living room to get the papers and money Mamá gave him. She had given him five hundred pounds. More than enough for a ticket to London. At least she tried to make them separate somewhat nicely. Stuffing the bills and passport into his wallet, he shoved the rest of his papers into his backpack, thanking Mamá for putting them in a folder so he could pack them without creasing._

 

_When he went out the door, the full weight of what he was doing crashed on him and he had to sit on the doorstep, trying not to scream._

 

* * *

 

"Your mother found your diary," Senhor Silva hissed at him. "Now get lost." He was about to slam the door again, but Tiago stopped him.

 

"It was thrown away. I saw it. You put the box in the rubbish bin." Tiago was reeling. When he realized he liked boys as well as girls at fourteen, not having anyone to talk to about his sexuality, he decided to try writing in a diary like Anne Frank. It seemed to help her a lot, which was why he followed her example. But after he made peace with himself when he realized there was a term for people like him, and that he was not mad or confused, he decided to throw the diary away-partially to remove evidence of his leanings, but mostly because his scared ramblings were painful to behold. He hadn't liked the reminder of his fearful confusion, so he put the diary in a cardboard box of junk Papai had wanted to throw away.

 

"Your mother decided to keep it when she saw it. Said it was adorable how you wrote in a diary. She decided to read it now, after a year. Then she found out all your secrets, you stupid gay. Happy?" _Senhor_  Rodriguez snapped. He had almost closed the door all the way before Tiago wrenched it open.

 

"Bisexual." Tiago didn't know what he was saying, or why; all he felt was  _rage_. "I'm not gay, I'm bisexual." He hadn't managed to tell Abuela, the only person who accepted him, because she died before he figured it out. 

 

"Doesn't matter. You're all the same, all-disgusting, and-" He didn't manage to get another word in before Tiago punched his jaw. Enraged, _Senhor_ Rodriguez clocked him on the nose. They brawled on the doorway. But Mr. Hashim pulled him away while trying to calm him down. Tiago went along, suddenly too exhausted to do anything much. Pai slammed the door. He saw blood on the doorstep, and wondered whose blood it was. He felt his nose throb and realized it was his.

 

"We need to get you to the hospital." Mr. Hashim sounded panicked.

 

"I can't. I need to leave."

 

"Then get ice to put on your nose, at least. It's all swollen. I think it's broken."

 

"No need. I-I'll just go. Thank you, Mr. Hashim, but I need to go the airport. Goodbye." Tiago pulled away.

 

Mr. Hashim let him go. Tiago almost felt sad, but he shrugged it off.

 

 

   

Hailing a cab was a pain because nobody wanted to take someone who looked to be a hooligan who had lost a fight. He managed to snag one, who wordlessly handed him tissues for the bleeding, and got to the airport. Any other time, Tiago would feel mortified walking into such a public space and being stared at and whispered about because of his appearance, but this time, he couldn't care less. He paid for the ticket to London in cash. The woman at the kiosk looked like she wanted to call the police or a social worker, but he blabbed something about falling down(which technically did happen) and she seemed to believe it. It was probably because she wanted it to be true.

 

Tiago sat down on a nearby bench and started calculating his travel time. The closest flight was two hours away. The flight time would be three hours. Going to Langford meant taking a bus and train. It should take two hours. In seven hours, he would be in his new home for the foreseeable future. He checked his watch. It was eleven minutes past five. He'll be in his new home at around midnight. Now he just needed to wile away two hours.

 

Tiago thought of reading the Little Prince, but decided that reading a book with a sad ending would probably make him bawl right now. He dug out The Hobbit. Rather appropriate, since he was going away from home on an adventure. He hoped his journey would be much less perilous and have a happier ending.

 

When Tiago was called to board, he didn't even turn one page or read a single letter.

 

 

 

The flight was uneventful, thank God for that. A flight attendant gave him some ice for his nose on the flight. He couldn't remember if he thanked her or not. He wondered if his nose looked even worse before the ice. He had gone to the loo and stared at his reflection in the mirror above the sink, transfixed at the swelling and bruising around his eyes. He wondered when his nose would stop giving him breathing troubles, but decided to focus on the present right now. He left the loo and got into the bus that would take him to the nearest train station. His biggest problem was how he should get into an English school after he arrived in Langford. Was there even a college there? He hoped so. He didn't even know how to register for school. Maybe he should study at home? The only problem with that plan was motivation. Without his parents and Richard who kept challenging him into a grades competition, he'd probably spend all his time coding, and might even end up hacking. 

 

That sounded dangerously appealing.

 

Breaking rules were _fun_. Tiago had learned that fact at a very early age. He'd delighted in pushing buttons and testing boundaries. But there were lines he didn't cross, mostly because he knew there were some people from whom punishment was unbearable, like his parents and Abuela. He'd never disobeyed them. But really, what else has he got to lose? He had the skills, he needed the money. He resolved to wait until his computer arrived at Langford to start hacking. He wondered where he should start. A credit card number? 

 

The cab pulled up at the station. Tiago paid the fare and went to the ticket booth. The man looked at his tanned skin, bloodied t-shirt and wonky nose suspiciously, but answered his questions politely. It was then he was told that the trains to Langford had all gone, and wouldn't be available until eight in the morning. He floundered a bit, before asking the man at the booth if he knew where a cheap hotel was. The man gave him directions to a youth hostel that was within walking distance to the station. He thanked the man and went looking for the hostel.

 

 

 

 

 

The hostel wan't too bad. The man at the counter only frowned at him a bit before handing his room key with a stern warning to not cause trouble. Tiago simply nodded before he went to his room and collapsed on the bed. He didn't bother showering or changing clothes, he was too exhausted. He barely managed to toe his shoes off before he fell asleep.

 

 

 

A burning sensation in his throat woke Tiago up. Groaning, he stumbled out of bed and got his wallet. Fucking heartburn. His own fault really-he forgot to eat dinner last night. He needed to eat something and get some omeprazole. It was seven in the morning-just enough time for him to get what he needed and get on the train. But he got a whiff of himself and went straight to the shower, nose wrinkled. His reflection showed that his nose had only gotten worse. Fuck Papai. 

 

After a quick wash, he walked naked to his suitcase and wore a new t-shirt and jeans. He checked out and went to grab a bite to eat at the train station. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tiago stepped off the train station hesitantly. He got out his house ownership papers and looked at the address. He asked a nearby constable how to get to his house and was given directions. Thanking him, he walked through Langford, taking in the sights. He'd never gone here before. People stared for a bit before ignoring him. He couldn't blame them-he was sure he looked a right mess. He'd squirmed non-stop on the train, and his clothes were all wrinkled.

 

He arrived at his house's doorstep. It was a medium sized two up two down terrace. He fished for his keys in his backpack when a cheerful "Hello!" sounded from behind him.

 

Turning around, Tiago saw a woman approaching him. She was beautiful, all creamy skin, dark hair, and blue eyes; with a very pink, thin-lipped, wide mouth. She was wearing a blue summer dress.

 

"Are you moving in?" She smiled at him. Her sapphire earrings winked in the late morning sun.

 

"Yes, ma'am." Miraculously, he managed to speak. 

 

"That's nice. It's always good to see a new face here. Langford's a small town, so it can get a bit boring sometimes, seeing the same people all the time. What's your name? I'm Charlotte Dalton née Oakes." She shook his hand.

 

"I'm Tiago Rodriguez."

 

Mrs. Dalton frowned suddenly. "You're young. I thought at first you're a baby-faced young man, but you're  _young_. You couldn't be older than sixteen. What are you doing here? Where are your parents?" Her gaze flicked to his crooked, swollen nose.

 

"Bad argument. I moved here." Tiago braced himself for nosy questions.

 

Mrs. Dalton's face was kind. She patted his shoulder before saying "Ah, than in that case, come to me any time you need help. I'll leave you to unpack now-you must be tired getting here. Have a good day." 

 

"I'll do that. Thank you."

 

"You're welcome."

 

She walked back to her home, which was the end of terrace house on the other side of the street.

 

Tiago finally found his keys and unlocked his door. He faltered before going in. It was ridiculous, but doing it made everything seem too real. Shoving his fear aside, he pushed the door open with more force than necessary and entered his house.

 


End file.
